I once found two airline tickets tucked inside my husbands jacket pocket. My name was nowhere to be seen.
Margaret was sorting Andrews work clothes for the wash when her fingers brushed a thick piece of paper in the lining of his charcoal blazer. She pulled it free and saw a small envelope, and inside lay two businessclass tickets to the Maldives. The departure date was two weeks away, the return ten days later. The first ticket bore the name Andrew Smith; the second read Emily Smith.
Her heart missed a beat. Emily? Who was Emily? There was no Emily Smith in their family at all. Margaret sank onto the edge of the bed, the tickets clutched in her hand. Twentyfive years of marriage and suddenlyEmily.
Could it be a mistake? A typo? she thought, but the name on the second ticket was printed clearly, without error. Not Margaret Smithher own namebut some Emily.
She slipped the tickets back into the envelope and returned it to the jacket pocket. Her hands trembled, her throat went dry. She needed to calm herself. Andrew would be home from the office in about an hour, and she had to decide what to do.
She drifted into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of tea, and settled by the window. In twentyfive years theyd weathered arguments, misunderstandings, periods of coolness. But infidelity? Margaret had never entertained the notion. Andrew had always seemed reliable, faithful. They had met in a travel club while climbing the Scottish Highlands, later shared hikes in the Lake District and trips to the Scottish islands. After the wedding they kept traveling, but as the years passed work, responsibilities and the daily grind pushed their adventures farther apart.
The last holiday theyd taken together was a twoweek stay in Cornwall three years earlier. Margaret remembered Andrew promising that the following summer they would go abroad. Life got in the wayher urgent project, then his, and now it seemed Andrew was planning a trip to the Maldives without her.
She dialed her old friend Olivia.
Olivia, can you talk? Margarets voice quivered.
Margaret? Whats wrong? Olivia sensed something amiss at once.
Ive found two Maldives tickets in Andrews jacket. Ones for him, the other for a certain Emily Smith.
A pause, then Olivia asked cautiously, Could it be some clerical error? A workrelated trip perhaps?
Workrelated trip to the Maldives? And why would an Emily be listed? Margaret managed a bitter laugh. Whats going on?
It does sound odd, Olivia agreed. What are you thinking of doing?
I dont know, Margaret sighed. Maybe wait until he tells me? Perhaps he has an explanation.
And if he doesnt? Olivia replied gently. Youve been together a lifetime, Margaret, but people do change, especially men at a certain age.
Andrew isnt like that, Margaret retorted, though a seed of doubt had already taken root.
Everyone says that until reality hits, Olivia said, sighing. Why not ask him directly? Show the tickets and demand an answer.
And if he lies?
Youve lived with him twentyfive years. Youll know when hes not being truthful.
Margaret considered this. After all those years they could read each otheror so she thought.
Alright, Ill think about it, she said finally. Thanks, Olivia.
She hung up and sat still, memories flickering: Andrews recent late evenings at the office, mysterious weekend meetings, his newfound attention to his appearancenew shirts, an expensive cologne, a haircut at a trendy salon. He had never cared much for such things before.
She steadied herself. She couldnt let imagination run wild; she needed facts. She walked to Andrews study, a room she rarely entered out of respect for each others privacy. Today, however, the situation demanded an exception.
The study was immaculateAndrew liked order. Margaret approached the desk, entered his password their wedding dayopened his email. Nothing alarming: work correspondence, newsletters, a note from an old university mate. Then she checked his browsing history. There, to her dismay, were searches: Best Maldives resorts for couples, Romantic Maldives getaways, What to know before a Maldives holiday, and the final one, Gift for beloved woman in the Maldives.
Her breath caught. Beloved womannot wife, but woman.
She closed the browser, turned off the computer, fought back tears. She could not let Andrew see her break.
When Andrew finally returned from work, Margaret had composed herself and set a modest dinner on the tableher usual mushroom casserole, his favourite. He slipped off his coat, kissed her cheek, and sniffed.
Smells lovely, love. Whats on the menu? he asked.
Mushroom casserole, Margaret replied, trying to keep her voice steady. Your favourite.
Perfect, Im famished, he said, heading for the sink.
The evening passed with small talk about the weather, the news, weekend plans. Margaret watched him, looking for any sign of guilt. He chatted about his day, asked about hers, laughed at her jokesnothing out of the ordinary.
So any business trips coming up? she asked casually while pouring tea.
Nothing set yet, he shrugged. Why?
Just thinking maybe we could get away somewhere together. Its been ages, she said.
He gave her a puzzled look, as if a thought was forming then vanished.
Yeah, it has been a while. We should think of something, he replied.
Margaret felt her chest tighten. He was lying. Right now, looking straight into her eyes, he was lying.
What destination would you like? she continued, trying to sound light. Maybe the sea? The Maldives, for instance?
Andrews face flickeredjust a barely perceptible wince.
The Maldives? he said, with a nervous smile. Why the Maldives?
Just an example, Margaret shrugged. People say its beautiful. Would you like to go?
I dont know, never thought about it. Its pricey, far away, he replied, averting his gaze.
Lies, lies, Margaret thought, a lump rising in her throat.
Whos Emily? she blurted suddenly.
Andrew froze, his cup midway to his lips.
What Emily? he asked.
Emily Smith. Do you know her? she pressed.
From where He stopped, eyes widening. Margaret, whats happening?
She stood, went to retrieve the jacket from the hallway, and placed the envelope with the tickets on the kitchen table.
I found this while doing the laundry. Please explain, she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Andrew stared at the tickets as if seeing them for the first time, then met her gaze.
This isnt what you think, he began.
What do you think, Andrew? she asked softly. That youre planning a holiday with another woman? That twentyfive years means nothing?
No, thats not it! he snapped, rising abruptly. Its not what you imagine!
How? Margarets tears finally broke free. Who is Emily and why are you lying to me?
He moved toward her, trying to embrace her, but she stepped back.
Dont, she said. Just tell me the truth.
He inhaled heavily.
Alright. The truth is He faltered. Damn, its not going as I planned.
Exactly, Margaret said, a bitter smile curling her lips.
No, you dont get it, Andrew muttered, rubbing his forehead. I need to show you something. Give me a minute.
He left the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with his laptop.
Look, he said, opening his email and pointing to a message from a travel agency. I booked these tickets a month agofor us.
Margaret glanced at the screen. The email indeed confirmed two businessclass tickets to the Maldives, with hotel reservations for Andrew and Margaret Smith.
So why does the ticket say Emily? she asked.
Andrew scrolled down.
It says, Dear Mr. Andrew Smith, there was an error in the ticketing process. Your spouses name was entered incorrectly. We apologise. New tickets will be issued within three working days. That note came this morning. I havent had a chance to tell you yet.
Margaret read the message repeatedly, disbelief mixing with relief.
So these tickets for us? her voice trembled.
Yes, for us! Andrew took her hands. I wanted to surprise you for our silver weddingtwentyfive years. Ive been saving, picking a hotel, planning the whole thing.
Why didnt you tell me? And where did Emily come from?
Because I wanted it to be a surprise, he admitted, sheepish. As for the name, I have no ideamust be a system glitch. Maybe they mixed us up with another couple.
Margaret looked at him, trying to process. Had she misread everything? Had she caused a scene based on nothing?
Im sorry, she whispered. I must have looked foolish.
No, I understand, Andrew soothed, brushing her cheek. I know how it must have looked. But you truly thought I could be with another woman?
I dont know, she confessed honestly. Youve changed latelynew shirts, the haircut, staying late. I started to wonder
I was preparing for the trip, he interjected. Wanted to look presentable beside a beautiful wife. The late nights were extra projects to fund the holiday.
Shame flushed her cheeks. How could she have doubted him after all those years?
Forgive me, she said, pulling him into an embrace. I ruined everything, didnt I?
You havent ruined anything, he held her tightly. The surprise may have backfired, but well still go. You want the Maldives, dont you?
With you, anywhere, Margaret replied through tears, a smile breaking through.
That night she lay awake, listening to Andrews steady breathing, staring at the ceiling and pondering how a single doubt could threaten a structure built over decades. One misstep, one mistaken name, and the solid walls of trust could crumble like a house of cards.
The next morning, after Andrew left for work, Margaret called the travel agency cited in the email. The operator, a lady named Claire, confirmed the clerical error and promised new tickets would be delivered by courier that day.
Do you know where the name Emily came from? Margaret asked.
The system sometimes mixes data when its overloaded, especially during promotions, Claire explained. We had a big Maldives sale that week, so it looks like a data overlap occurred.
Grateful, Margaret thanked her and hung up. A weight lifted from her chest, the foolish suspicions evaporating like morning mist under the sun.
That evening, when Andrew returned, the dining table was set with candles and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.
What are we celebrating? he asked, surprised.
Were celebrating us, Margaret replied simply. And the upcoming Maldives trip.
Andrew smiled, reached into his pocket, and produced the envelope.
By the way, about the tickets. Here are the new onesdefinitely in your name this time.
Margaret opened the envelope and saw two tickets: Andrew Smith and Margaret Smith.
Thank you, she said, meeting his eyes. For everything.
And thank you, he said earnestly. For believing in me all these twentyfive years, and for the next twentyfive ahead.
They clinked glasses. Snow fell outside, blanketing the town in white, while inside the flat was warm and cosy. Margaret thought of how lucky she was, and how fragile happiness can beone misstep enough to shatter it.
Two weeks later they boarded a plane for the Maldives. As the aircraft climbed, Andrew took Margarets hand.
I was afraid youd refuse to go, he admitted. You never like surprises.
I love you, she replied simply. Everything else is secondary.
He squeezed her hand, and they both smiled, gazing out the window at the endless skyvast and timeless, just like the love that had endured doubt and time.
Back home, in a drawer of Andrews desk, lay another envelope containing a diamond ringa gift for their silver wedding, intended for a sunset on a tropical beach. He was certain that this surprise would finally land as intended.
That Maldivian holiday became one of the happiest chapters of their lives. But that, dear reader, is a story for another day.
